ye of little faith
by sugar free vanilla
Summary: '"You don't trust me." Anguish bleeds from the cracks in his voice, diffuses to her and wraps itself around her chest, a choking vise of grief that restricts her lungs, steals the breath that holds her words of protest and swallows them whole.' 7x01 post ep, set a little ways after.


**A/N - Ignore this if you aren't interested.**

**I haven't had a lot of time to write (aka, none) since I started sixth form, yet I managed to get this out, even if it's only tiny.**

**I started a multichapter, Fences, the day before I started college, which was stupid. So yeah, that (after one whole chapter!) is on hiatus, but I do plan to continue it.**

**DRIVEN WAS SO GOOD. SOMEONE GIVE STANA KATIC AN EMMY.**

**Okay, I'm done. This is basically what I hope does **_**not **_**happen.**

"Marry me, Kate." He stands, face grave in the semi darkness as his broad shoulders fill the doorway. Tense fingers grip at the wooden frame of the entry, the soft play of light illuminating the twitch of his biceps.

Kate's heart flips from somewhere down in her stomach and-

-she feels sick, the churning of her insides nothing to do with delight, or joy; any of those things that even the _thought_ of marrying this man conjured up inside her only a few months ago. Bracing herself against the headboard, she closes her book. Doesn't bother to dog-ear the page as she casts it aside, folds her hands into an anxious knot in her lap.

"What?" She asks, pretending not to have heard. And, oh, isn't that a parallel? Kate chokes back a bitter laugh.

"Marry me. Tomorrow." He takes an almost-tentative step into their bedroom, the single stride faltering slightly in spite of the boldness of his words. The glow from the bedside lamp hits more intensely now, casts shadows that settle into the lines of his face. The sharply down-turned corners of his lips.

He doesn't look much happier at the prospect than she feels. He looks-

-desperate, that's it. A dark sort of need, tainted by - is that hurt? Or sorrow, or something else, perhaps. She finds she cannot read him as well as she once did.

Or perhaps she can, and yet she no longer has faith in what she sees.

In him. In Castle.

"You don't trust me." Anguish bleeds from the cracks in his voice, diffuses to her and wraps itself around her chest, a choking vise of grief that restricts her lungs, steals the breath that holds her words of protest and swallows them whole.

She says nothing.

Castle sways slightly where he stands, stumbles to the foot of the bed and sinks to the floor by it, leaning his head back against the duvet. His hands cover his face as she hesitates - half reaching for him, because she always will, yet holding herself back.

And that's the whole point, really.

Unable to let him go, but refusing to give herself wholly to him again. Not now she knows the truth of how entirely he can ruin her. Not now the seed of doubt that he was aware of what he was doing when he left has taken root in all of her most vulnerable places, pushing up to make cracks in the foundations of her strength.

"I would never - I would - never. Never." Quaking gasps from the end of the bed. "How could you think-? Never. I love you. I _love _you."

Still, Kate can't find words - not ones that will comfort, at least. Only the ones that would tear him - them - apart.

"I was so excited to marry you. To see you walk down the aisle. To say I do, and call you my wife. I don't understand how you-"

"I love you," she blurts out.

And it's the truth, mostly. She's still consumed by him, her heart irrevocably bound to his by a tangled web of steel cables. But they're twisted now - not straight and taut and uncomplicated in their strength - with a sickening layer of loathsome brown, rusted.

Because she loves him, yes, always will - but somewhere along the way she finds that she started to hate him too.

Castle rises jerkily to his feet, stares at her for a long moment. His arm rises seemingly of its own accord, fingers stretched, yearning in her direction; he drops the limb abruptly. Holds it stiffly at his side.

"I don't remember. I don't," he swears. But she knows all too well how easy it is to lie about these things. Hell, he's telling her that he doesn't remember being shot.

A harsh laugh barks from her wooden lungs.

He flinches away, eyes wide and accusing before closing tightly.

"Please, Kate. Just think about what you want. Trust me. You know me."

She isn't so sure she does, but nods anyway. An eternity of distance stretches through the scant few feet between them, and even when he was gone she doesn't think he ever felt this far away.

She's not sure how long it is before he turns, legs moving almost convulsively as he makes to leave.

"Rick. Stay." Three months with him back in her bed and it still isn't enough. Never will be enough, against the nine weeks of nightmares, of lying awake and staring at his untouched pillow.

"I can't." It's a whisper more than anything, the tenor of his voice breaking through just once, spilling heartbreak into the stillness of the room. "Not unless you mean it. For more than the night."

She lets him go.


End file.
